


The Days That Bind Us

by youjik33



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M, Post-Game, implied Zevran/Alistair/Male Warden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 06:53:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2498672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youjik33/pseuds/youjik33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zevran's questions about the Joining lead him and Alistair to discover they might have more in common than they imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Days That Bind Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heeroluva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/gifts).



> It turns out writing these two is way harder than I thought, but I did my best. I hope you like it! Apologies if the idea's been done before.

"Just think," Zevran said, voice low. There was a stillness to the forest, gray clouds blanketing the twilit sky. "We could be having an actual hot breakfast at this very moment, straight from the royal kitchens of Denerim. Did you know a shipment of coffee came in last week? Coffee! How did I ever survive so many months without it? Queen Anora appreciates the finer things, and a generous queen she is indeed to share them with the Hero of Ferelden and his humble Antivan lover."

"So why did you come with me if you're just going to complain, anyway?"Alistair asked. "Trouble in paradise?"

"My dear Warden, it wouldn't be paradise without a little trouble." Zevran stretched his arms out over his head, drew one of his daggers, and twirled it between his fingers, keeping himself limber just in case. "But is it so hard to believe I might want to chip in my talents? I've killed more Darkspawn than most Wardens by now, have I not? Besides, I'd like to still be of use to Our Valiant Hero – outside of the bedroom, that is." Zevran doubted he would ever tire of the way Alistair's face reddened at the merest mention of sex. "Mopping up a few stragglers shouldn't be an issue."

"I hope that's all this is," Alistair said grimly. "I have a feeling we'll be chasing stray Darkspawn all over the countryside in the coming months. And we can't even do a proper Joining yet until we hear back from the Orlesian wardens."

"I have a small confession," Zevran admitted, and Alistair stopped in his tracks.

"Oh? Is this something I'm equipped to hear?"

"The only one who is, to be entirely honest. I have some questions about this Joining of yours, and there's no one else I can ask."

"Well, we're not exactly supposed to talk about it. Though I somehow get the idea you know a great deal already."

"I know your secretive meaningful ritual amounts to drinking blood out of a cup. What I was wondering is, is it contagious?"

"What?"

"Being a Grey Warden. Is it contagious? Could a Warden... transfer it, to a third party? Unintentionally?" 

"Well, I've never heard of anything like that. But then again, Wardens traditionally keep mostly to themselves, and it isn't like we usually go around letting other people drink our blood."

"I didn't mean blood." 

Zevran watched Alistair's face carefully, the way his brow furrowed, the gradual widening of his eyes as realization hit. The blush flared up an instant later, and then the sputtering started.

"You don't mean-- look, what you two do on your own is-- it's not my business, and I don't want to hear it, and-- oh Maker help me, you really think that-- you really _swallow_ it, that's so disgusting I can't even--"

Zevran waited for Alistair to wind himself back down. One might think that spending so many months in a camp that did not provide much privacy would have helpd Alistair get over some of his shyness, but apparently that wasn't so.

"So," he said finally, looking at some leaves vaguely off to the left of Zevran's head rather than directly at him. "Do you have some actual reason to think this might be possible?"

"At first it was just exhaustion. The great battle with the Archdemon's horde at Denerim, and a solid week of rigorous celebratory lovemaking- " 

"Agh," Alistair said.

"It's only natural that these things might be quite tiring. But I was flat on my back for two days – and not in the way you're thinking--" 

_"Agh."_

"And two nights ago I had a dream, vague unsettling impressions of figures moving through tunnels, and right after that word came of this darkspawn raiding party. It may just be coincidence, but I'm... concerned."

"You might be right, then. I don't know if something like this has ever happened before, but as I said we're very discouraged from relationships at all, especially outside of the order. So it might just be horribly uncommon. But you aren't, uh, dead. Which is promising."

"Yes, that's very comforting," Zevran said dryly.

"I don't know," Alistair said helplessly. "It certainly sounds like you might be in the process of becoming a Grey Warden. If you keep, uh..." He cleared his throat. "If things keep going as they are, maybe you'll end up a full-fledged Warden. It isn't so bad, you know; you're immune to the Darkspawn taint, and I can't imagine you'd expected a particularly long lifespan anyhow."

"That's true," Zevran said. "Though being able to sense them would be much more useful during an actual Blight, and I don't suppose we'll be having another of those anytime soon – hello, what's this?" He knelt in the dead leaves, eyeing a tripwire he'd barely noticed in the misty sunlight. Alistair fell silent and drew his sword. Traps didn't set themselves. It was possible they'd merely stumbled across the outskirts of a former bandit camp, but then again--

Zevran tensed. He sensed them before he saw them, but while that in itself wasn't unusual (he had exceptional hearing, and genlocks were not known for their elegance), there was something else this time, a darkness in his peripheral vision, a heaviness thrumming somewhere in his blood. There were only four of them – he only _saw_ four of them, but somehow it felt like more. There wasn't time to think about it, though. Still crouched, he hoisted his arm and flung his dagger through the eye of the nearest genlock, and it fell backwards with a screech.

Zevran sprang to his feet – and immediately staggered. He really could feel them, an indescribable dark wrongness emanating off of each darkspawn, and the new sense was overwhelming, disorienting, like being thrust suddenly from darkness to sunlight. Suddenly there was an iron bolt jutting out of his calf, and he stumbled backwards and fell. Luckily for him the hurlock with the crossbow had been a poor judge of distance, and Alistair's shield was more than a match for its skull. 

The darkspawn stragglers had no hope in a fight against a battle-tried Grey Warden. Zevran let himself enjoy the entertainment; Alistair was surprisingly light on his feet for someone so strong. He'd beheaded one of the remaining darkspawn before his first opponent's body had even hit the ground, and swung his sword around to disembowel the last in a single fluid motion. It made Zevran want to burst into applause, but he was rather occupied getting bandages tight around the hole in his leg.

"Are you all right?" Alistair asked, as he approached, wiping darkspawn blood from his eyes.

"I wish Wynne were here," Zevran said, "but the bolt was neither barbed nor poisoned and I seem to have gotten it out cleanly. I'm afraid I've gotten blood all over these lovely Antivan leather boots."

"I'm sure we can find you new boots. Though bloodstains have a certain aesthetic appeal too, don't they?"

"Certainly," Zevran responded, gritting his teeth just a little as Alistair lifted him. "Though one I think I may be starting to tire of, quite frankly."

"So you did sense them, didn't you?" Alistair asked after a few minutes. He was ignoring the fact that Zevran's fingers were twined into the hair at the base of his neck. "And that's why you..."

"Why I fell on my ass, in most undignified fashion? Yes. I suppose this means there are technically three Wardens in Fereldan now, but forgive me if I don't rush to make myself one of those blue tabards."

"Why not? They're quite nice. We could get you one without any blood on it. But in all seriousness, I understand that you didn't exactly volunteer. If you want to keep this between the three of us..."

"Why, Alistair, are you actually suggesting breaking Warden rules for me?"

"Not _just_ you," Alistair said, going a shade red. 

They continued in silence, Zevran trying to focus his newfound darkspawn senses to keep his mind off the pain in his leg, but the forest seemed still and peaceful. 

"You all right?" Alistair asked. "You're quieter than usual."

"Alas," Zevran sighed, "I fear I may die of this wound."

"You don't have to tease me-"

Zevran cut him off. "Oh, woe! If only I could be saved by the kiss of a pure-hearted virgin-"

Zevran was not easily shocked, but Alistair pressing their mouths together did it. It was a clumsy kiss, just a rough press of lips, and when it was over Alistair continued tramping through the woods, staring straight ahead, cheeks aflame.

"How long have you been thinking about doing that?" Zevran finally asked.

"Too long. Sorry. I shouldn't have."

"Shouldn't have called my bluff? I had it coming. I don't suppose I'll have more coming?"

He didn't get an immediate answer, though; they'd reached the road, and before long Zevran was stowed in the back of a merchant's cart, between crates of what seemed to be exceptionally stinky cheese. It was only marginally more dignified than being carried, but at least it gave Alistair a chance to rest. He perched on the edge of the cart watching the road roll away behind them. He was probably trying not to think about the kiss, Zevran surmised, which meant that was probably all that was on his mind. 

"It can be our little secret," Zevran said. "If that's what you want. I am a little surprised, though; I thought you weren't interested in men. Or is it just me?"

He could see the tension in Alistair's shoulders as the other man considered the words. "I was a little sheltered, you know that. I guess..." Alistair swung around, squeezing himself onto the floor between Zevran and one of the cheese crates, so they could talk more easily. "I still don't understand how you can just... have sex. With people you don't even know. With people you don't even _like_. But I watched the two of you grow closer, and it's obvious you have something special. I started to see that two men could really have a relationship that wasn't just physical, and... I started seeing the appeal."

"Of both of us? Interesting. You might have said something sooner." 

"I care for both of you," Alistair said. "A great deal. I never wanted to get between you, and I stand by that."

"And why ever not? You'd fit very nicely between us."

"Can you be serious for just one second?"

"I am being incredibly serious. We both care for you too, Alistair." Zevran moved his hand, brushed his fingers against the exposed skin of Alistair's wrist. "And I'm afraid." He chuckled at the wide-eyed look that crossed Alistair's face. "You're probably the only person alive who has ever heard me say that, but it's true. I'm afraid of this blood taint, even though you seem to have accepted it. I'm afraid that the Crows will come after me again and I'll be forced to leave the man I love. I'm afraid he'll die and leave me; I'm afraid I'll die and he'll have to go on alone. These are heavy burdens to bear, but perhaps a little less heavy with a third set of arms to help carry the load. In fact, I feel lighter already, which hopefully is not due to blood loss."

"I'm sure you'll be all right," Alistair said. He moved his hand, hesitated a moment, then twined his fingers with Zevran's.

"You're blushing," Zevran said with a laugh. "I just watched you disembowel a hurlock and you're blushing because we're holding hands." 

"I've disemboweled dozens of hurlocks. This is new." 

Zevran shifted – stiffly, trying not to jar his injured leg – and rested his head on Alistair's knee. New indeed. There was a bond here, something beyond comrades-at-arms and beyond the shared darkness in their blood. Zevran had opened his heart to only one person in his life, and it had been confusing and, yes, a little frightening. This time it seemed easier, somehow. "Let me tell you a story to pass the time," Zevran said as the sun rose in the autumn sky. "A story about a foolish Crow assassin and a woman named Reina."


End file.
